


Natty Cat

by Artemis_Day, Wolfsdrache



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Background Bucky/Jane, Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2019, Curtain Fic, F/M, Fluff, Slice of Life, Stuffed Toy Making, Stuffed Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 13:14:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18917755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis_Day/pseuds/Artemis_Day, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfsdrache/pseuds/Wolfsdrache
Summary: Everyone has secrets, and everyone has hobbies. Nobody could've expected Steve's secret hobby.





	Natty Cat

**Author's Note:**

> Written by Artemis_Day
> 
> Art by Wolfsdrache

Steve didn’t have enough batting for Thor Cat’s head.

He didn’t know how that happened. When he went to the craft store yesterday, he was sure the five jumbo bags of stuffing he purchased would be more than enough to finish every single Avenger Cat on his list, with a little extra for some SHIELD Cats. The clerk had assured him that he could make up to thirty dolls with this much stock. At twenty dollars a piece, he’d been naive enough to believe this big name store with locations all over the country wouldn’t overcharge on low-grade material claiming it was all he’d ever need to complete his project.

Yet here he was, staring at his last empty plastic bag with bits of white fuzz stuck to the plastic, a headless Thor Cat on his work table and the hollow, eyeless shells of two more dolls waiting.

_‘And that’s the last time I ever shop at Michael’s,’_ Steve thought.

He kicked the bag aside. The rest were stuffed into a tiny wastebasket turned over on its side. At some point, a housekeeper would come in and give him a disapproving stare as she righted it and replaced the mess with a fresh garbage bag. In most cases, Steve would’ve taken out the trash himself long before she got to his floor, but that would require moving and he wasn’t quite in the mood for that today.

He didn’t even look up when the door opened and Bucky’s slumped figure shuffled past him into the kitchen.

“How’d it go?” Steve asked.

Bucky grabbed the leftover pizza from yesterday and a two-liter bottle of Pepsi.

“That bad, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Bucky tossed the pizza into the toaster oven and dialed it up to the highest setting. “It wasn’t that bad.”

"Did you talk to her?”

Bucky hesitated. “No.”

“Did she talk to you?”

“She asked me what time it was,” Bucky stared at his hands, “we were on line at the food court.”

“And you didn’t answer her?”

“I was going to, but then her phone rang and I didn’t want to bother her. Then it was my turn to order… and that’s pretty much it…”

He shrugged, and Steve wondered how the world had gotten so upside-down that he had to give Bucky advice on getting a date.

“You realize she’s never going to know you’re interested if you don’t talk to her,” he said. For the moment, his fuzzy little problem was a trivial matter. He pushed Headless Thor Cat aside and walked around the table, coming to stand in the doorway so Bucky couldn’t escape. “Have you tried asking about her work?”

“Do you think I’m an idiot, Rogers?” The oven dinged and Bucky removed his now slightly charred pizza. “That was the first thing I did. You were there even.”

“We were at a conference. In the audience.” Steve thought back to the panel of astrophysicists and astronomers, heading by the one and only Dr. Jane Foster. “And you didn’t even stay for the autograph session.”

“What are you saying?”

“It doesn’t count.”

“How about this then?” Bucky flipped him off and shoved a slice of pizza in his mouth, ending the conversation.

Steve sighed and returned to his desk. He spread out the designs for his next three cats. If he could ever restore poor Headless Thor Cat’s to full form, Hawkeye Cat would be next on the agenda. Steve already had the fabric cut and stitched. Black with purple trim and a straw-stuffed bow sewed onto the hand with felt arrows. It would never shoot explosive projectiles at invading alien forces, but the corduroy was perfect for hugging. Clint’s kids were going to love it. He might even make two more just so they wouldn’t have to share.

Vision Cat was tricky, and Steve had scrapped his first two designs when the necessary material proved either too hard to find or not suitable for stuffed toys. In the end, he’d gone with patching together a doll made from the leftovers of Scarlet Cat’s red jacket and War Machine Cat’s armor. The cape would be by far the easiest part, so he’d saved buying yellow fabric for his next shopping trip (which was going to come a lot sooner than he thought).

The final cat would be the hardest; Steve had specifically saved it for last. He’d finally decided on velvet over fleece and bought enough acrylic hair to give her a straight shoulder cut. She’d have bright red fur, oversized green eyes and a tiny gun he’d fashioned out of the remains of Iron Cat’s hair. The leftover strips from Ant Cat’s suit would serve as a decent holster as long as they weren’t damaged by the black dye.

Widow Cat would be his greatest achievement yet. He inspected the drawing for mistakes one more time, erasing all the less than perfect lines and shortening the whiskers. It was always a good idea to do double, triple, and undecuple checks. He had certainly given every other doll the same level of attention he gave Widow Cat. He looked forward to her smile and possible hug when she received her new treasure just as much as he had the rest of them. Anyone who said different was a liar.

Bucky finished his pre-lunch snack on the living room couch with his feet up, just like Steve never wanted him to do. He shot his friend a glare, got one right back, and took a break from brainstorming spider patterns to kick Bucky’s legs to the floor where they belonged.

“I’m going to shoot you,” Bucky said conversationally. “Prepare to lose that perfect ass of yours.”

“While I’m glad you appreciate my ass,” Steve smirked, earning another middle finger, “moping around like an angry teenager isn’t going to help you talk to Dr. Foster.”

“I am not moping, I’m eating,” Bucky snapped. “If I were moping, I’d put on sad music and read sappy love poetry. This is me re-fueling.”

“And how long is that going to take?”

“About as long as it’ll take me to get a gun.”

Steve backed away, hands up, but still grinning. “Someone’s in a bad mood today.”

“Just shut up and make your dolls.” Bucky threw an inedible hunk of burned crust at him. “Talking so tough, I’d like to see you give Nat that doll without wetting yourself.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Steve picked up Headless Thor Cat, ready to get busy until he remembered the batting issue.

“Right, because you haven’t been staring at her during every training session for the past six months.”

“I’m the leader. It’s my job to supervise.”

“And you never forgot your own name while talking to her.”

“I hadn’t slept in two days. You try having a coherent conversation after that.”

“And you didn’t kiss her under the mistletoe for five straight minutes at the Christmas party.”

“It wasn’t _that_ long and she kissed me.”

Bucky shook his head. “And you think I’m hopeless.”

They sat in silence, wallowing in their inability to express themselves to the objects of their affections (or rather Bucky did). The smell of cheese, sausage, and peppers lingered, making Steve’s stomach turn. He laid out the fabric for Hawkeye Cat. It was a perfect distraction from his wild intrusive thoughts, and by the time his phone pinged him with some random news update he never read, half an hour had passed.

Bucky spent the time reading a book and staring at the ceiling. He’d been doing far more of the latter, blinking furiously like he was staving off sleep.

“What if I got her something?”

Steve blinked. He didn’t know if Bucky was talking to him. He hadn’t moved an inch.

“Something?” he asked. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. Flowers? A card?”

“That’s adorable. Don’t forget to get some for the whole class.”

Bucky glanced at him. “Are you calling me immature while you’re over there making stuffed animals?”

“I’d like to see you make one.”

Bucky looked ready to balk at the challenge until his expression turned unreadable. He studied Steve’s worktable, the needles and thread, the misshapen bits of discarded fabric, the sewing machine he still had to fix after the lamp went out. Steve didn’t have two hands covered in nicks and scars only because the serum made him heal too fast.

“You know what?” Bucky had that evil look in his eye. “I think you’re on to something. Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”

“You’re going to make a Jane Cat?”

“No,” Bucky scoffed. “I’m not some copycat. I’m going to make… a rabbit. A Jane Rabbit. Rabbits are better than cats.”

“Respectfully disagree.”

“You can respectfully eat me.” Bucky grabbed his coat and headed for the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some shopping to do. Maybe while I’m gone, you can work on growing some balls.”

“Try Michael’s,” Steve checked the sewing machine for what size bulb he’d need. “They have great prices.”

Long after Bucky vanished into the ether, Steve pushed his chair out and stretched. It was barely noon. He had the whole day to get what he needed and save Headless Thor Cat from his incomplete existence. Steve propped him up on his feet. His cape was in the drawer, waiting to be attached. The ax in his right hand was a little too small, but any bigger would’ve left him lopsided. Steve was sure Real Thor wouldn’t mind.

He headed out the door, ready for a peaceful afternoon performing mundane errands like any regular Joe. It would be perfect, and there was no chance of running into Natasha along the way and embarrassing himself.

* * *

She was in the training room doing push-ups, and Steve slipped on a freshly mopped floor while watching her.

Which he was doing because it was his responsibility. He was the leader. If she needed help or her form was off, it would be his job to step in and help her, because that was what good leaders did. That her form was never off and she rarely needed help wasn’t the issue. There was a first time for everything. Slipping was just an unfortunate accident. Someone cleaned up a spill and forgot to put up a ‘wet floor’ sign. He’d talk to Tony about it later when his ass stopped hurting.

Natasha was right there at his side as he picked himself up. Of course, she had to see the whole thing and hear the unintelligible animal noise he made as he fell.

“Rough day, Steve?” Her arms were folded and her brow shiny. She was in her usual workout clothes; sweatpants and a tight black tank top. No weapons, which was different. Usually, she went for target practice after finishing her morning routine.

“Not really,” he said, rubbing his ass before remembering who he was standing in front of. “Uh… just a rough floor, I guess.”

She smiled. “Let me know if you need me to play nurse.”

“I’m fine. Really.” Steve coughed and prayed his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. “I was just heading to the store. Sorry to bother you.”

“You’re not,” she said, stepping closer. “You mind having a tag-along? I have some things I need to pick up.”

“I’m not going to the grocery store,” Steve snapped, far too quickly and like she was brandishing a knife and issuing demands. He took a long, deep breath. “I just needed a few craft supplies.”

Admitting it was easier than it felt. He’d made no secret of his project before. Iron Cat had a place of honor in Tony’s living room. The glass case had been specially ordered, bullet and fireproof, he’d been told. Only the best for such a precious, one of a kind gift.

(The inscription, Proof That Steve Rogers Totally Loves Tony Stark, did seem like a bit much.)

Natasha gave a thoughtful nod. “Who is it this time?”

“Thor.”

“Ah. He’ll love it.” She grabbed a towel and dabbed it over her forehead and cheeks. Her skin bore a healthy glow like a halo. If he said that out loud, she’d laugh at him. She was no angel. They both knew that.

_‘She could be,’_ said a voice in his head. _‘Sure looks like one.’_

“Are you going to say something,” she asks, “or just stare at me?”

Steve looked away. It was harder than it should’ve been. “Sorry, didn’t realize I was…”

Natasha smiled but didn’t push it. She turned away, running her fingers through her matted hair. “I’m just going to shower off first. Mind waiting for me?”

“Not at all,” he mumbled.

And against his better judgment, that was exactly what he did.

* * *

The tiny corner craft store was in a village several miles out from the Avengers’ upstate base. It had a sun-bleached green awning shading the door and large glass windows with the owner’s name painted on. In the display case were several paintings in various styles and a few sculptures. The names of the artists were written on tags. No prices, though. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if the employees were just showing off their own work for anyone passing by.

The building was old for modern times but would’ve been the most up-to-date form of architecture when Steve was a boy. Bits of paint chipped off the door as it squeaked open on century-old hinges, removing all need for the bell hanging overhead.

Inside was exactly what Steve expected. The main room was larger inside than it looked outside, but every shelf, aisle, and table and been cram packed with enough merchandise to make him feel claustrophobic. On one side were drawing supplies. Paints of every color and a stack of easels reaching the ceiling. A set of hard pencils selling at half price caught his eye, but he turned away before the sweet hand of temptation could take hold.

The sewing supplies were on the opposite wall. An old woman carrying a box full of yarn emerged from the back room. She glanced at Steve and Natasha, not really seeing them as she gently set the box down next to an empty table with an ‘on sale’ sign taped to the edge. Her task complete, she flashed the pair a perfect customer service smile.

“Hello. Welcome to SL Crafts. Is there anything I can help you with today?”

“I was hoping you sell supplies for making stuffed animals,” Steve said, the words sounding awkward and flimsy even as he spoke them.

The woman did not give him a once over like he would’ve expected. She didn’t seem to realize there were Avengers in her midst at all.

“We have some batting and fabric near the back. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Just browsing right now, thank you.” Steve flashed her a smile leftover from his USO days.

She nodded and got to work arranging a set of ceramic birds on the sale table, leaving her customers to their own devices.

They walked down an aisle crammed full of easels and watercolor paint sets. Some of them came in handcrafted wooden boxes with ornate gold locks and Steve’s eyes lingered far longer than they should’ve. The prices were reasonable, but he was here on a mission and not one to throw money around when he already had a perfectly good paint set at home that he hadn’t used yet.

“So,” Natasha said, starting their first conversation since they arrived in town, “why stuffed animals?”

Steve hummed. “Why do I make them, you mean?”

She shrugged. “Not really what I would’ve expected of you.”

“I was out of material for flag making and eagle taxidermy, I guess.”

Her laughter was high and girlish. Practically giggling. Even though what he said wasn’t all that funny. She had to be humoring him.

“I figured it was something like that,” she said, pausing for a moment to examine a bouquet of fake flowers, “but why cats?”

“There something wrong with cats?”

“Of course not. I love cats. Just took you for more of a dog person.”

She wasn’t wrong. His best friend before he met Bucky was an old Saint Bernard his next door neighbor kept in the yard. Every day, weather and frequent colds permitting, Steve would rush outside and stick his bony arm through the fence for Mr. Tobey to sniff and lick. He was so big, little Steve could’ve ridden him like a horse. Sometimes, Mr. Tobey’s owner would even let Steve take him on his walk and play fetch with him.

One day, Steve came down with the flu. Again. He was laid up in bed for two weeks.

The morning he recovered, he went outside and didn’t find Mr. Tobey. There was only a wooden plank with his name on it sticking out of the freshly dug ground.

He never fully recovered from that one.

“Dogs are harder to work with,” Steve said, staring straight ahead with unblinking eyes. “They come in a lot of different shapes and sizes.”

“So do cats.”

“I just like working with them.” He shrugged and hoped that would be good enough for her. Not that he didn’t want to talk, but there was a roll of scarlet fabric sticking out of a pile of blues and yellows. It would be perfect for Nat Cat’s hair. Bright and soft and perfect for running his fingers through.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” she says with a half smile. “No need to be embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed.”

“Then why’s your face so red?”

Steve wanted to object, or would’ve wanted to if his brain was functioning properly. Right now, it had regressed back to his teenage years when any interaction with a beautiful woman triggered his fight or flight instinct.

“I…” he swallowed his tongue and took a deep breath before starting again. “I think that’s what I need. Right there.”

He walked around her to the corner display. Bags of batting were stacked one on top of the other, baring a brand name he didn’t know. Plush and terrycloth came in neatly wrapped packages and carried price tags slightly higher than the typical retail chain. That was the farthest thing from a problem. In an era of endless Targets and Wal-Marts, Steve missed the little mom n pop shops on every corner. Shelling out an extra ten bucks for a bag of fluff wouldn’t put a dent in his wallet, and he’d be helping an independent store stay in business.

Hell, maybe he should do some adverts. If he was ever going to willingly allow the media to use his image, it would be for something like this. Certainly not so they could stick his face on a brand of shoes and brag about how Captain America always fought crime while wearing his Nike Air Max whatevers.

First, he should figure out what SL stood for. Anything? Or did the owner just think it had a ring to it.

“And now you’re smiling,” Natasha observed. “You must be having a good day.”

“Thanks for being my mirror,” Steve said. He plucked the first two bags of batting off the tower and set them aside as he continued to browse. “I was just thinking about all those endorsement deals I keep refusing. They never seem to stop.”

She hummed. “I would say I know the feeling, but I don’t think my image is as family friendly as yours.”

“You don’t get offers?”

“I’ve had a few. Mostly from weapons manufacturers. The samples they send me make great decorations.” That explained all the cheap looking knives she had lined up on her mantle. “I do get requests to do an interview for American Girl every couple of months, but I don’t think I’m what they’re looking for.”

Steve shrugged. “They wouldn’t keep asking if you weren’t.”

“Sure, I’ll talk all about the Red Room and teach all their preteen readers how to make a shank out of someone’s femur.” She stroked a bit of exposed plush, her nails neatly trimmed and coated in light pink. That was the last color Steve ever expected her to wear, but it kind of suited her. “Speaking of which, want to show me how to make a teddy bear?”

He was not going to forgive her for blatantly changing the subject. Sooner or later, he’d call her out and they’d go right back to how she’d be amazing on the cover of any magazine and anyone who thought she wouldn’t make a good role model for young women was either an asshole or had their heads buried so far up their asses, they could see out the other way.

For now, he directed her attention to the plush.

“So here’s your fabric,” he handed it to her to feel the softness. “First thing you have to do is choose your animal. If you’re making a cat, you draw the pattern on a piece of paper and use that as your base to cut the fabric.”

“Is it always cats with you?”

“I tried to make a horse once,” Steve ground his teeth at the memory. (So much fluff…) “It didn’t turn out very well.”

“Please tell me it was a Loki horse.”

Steve laughed so loud, the owner came to check on them with her cell phone in hand. He waved, letting her know she was okay, but he imagined she’d be keeping an eye on them from now on.

“It was just a regular horse, but if I ever decide to try again, that’s an excellent idea.” He forced the humor away. Her little smile threatened to make him lose it again. “So once you have two pieces of fabric, you sew them together. You make sure to leave a hole open, not too big, but enough that you can stuff it easily.”

He paused in case she had a question. Her eyes were firmly set on his face, like the most diligent student.

“Next is the most important part,” he said, unsure if he really meant it. “You have to turn the fabric inside out so that the stitching isn’t exposed to the air. Makes it too easy to come apart that way. After that, you stuff in the batting, sew up the hole, and you’re done.”

“So that’s how you do it,” she said.

“Yes. Well, no, not me specifically. There are other methods, that’s just the best one for beginners.” The batting bags slid to the floor and he stooped down to pick them up. “After that, you can stitch on a face, design clothes, add hair, whatever extra features you want. I usually give them hair or colored eyes. I made a pair of removable shades for Iron Cat. Tony really liked it.”

“Iron Cat, huh?”

Steve coughed. “Yeah, I give them names sometimes.”

“What’s mine called? Widow Cat?”

“I’m still thinking about it.” Steve tried to fold his arms, but the batting bags wouldn’t let him. “I haven’t started yours yet, but I’ll let you know.”

She brought a finger to her chin. “Natasha Cat seems like a mouthful.”

Steve nodded, thoughtlessly checking the price tags on sewing kits. His scissors were getting a bit dull. Maybe new ones were a good idea while he was at it. “Natty Cat…”

“What?”

He looked up. “Huh?”

“Did you say Natty Cat?”

Steve swallowed. He tried to shrug it off but his body wasn’t agreeing with him. “Just an idea.”

“It’s not bad,” she said, picking up a package of terrycloth to inspect. “Has a nice ring to it.”

She asked a few more questions about sewing techniques and what kind of fabrics Steve liked best. He answered as best he could. Focusing on his task and not looking her in the eye helped. It took five minutes to cross off every item on his list, and they waited patiently at the register for the employee to ring them up. She didn’t have a nametag, only a photo on the wall of her with a tall, grey-haired man in glasses. Together they held a plaque which couldn’t be read clearly for the glare of the lens.

“That’s me and my husband,” the woman said, catching Steve staring. “We won a small business award last year.”

“Congratulations,” said Steve.

“Thank you! Mr….” The woman eyed Steve. “Do I know you?”

Steve discreetly adjusted his baseball cap. He was starting to wonder if this was really that good of disguise. “I don’t believe so, Ma’am.”

“No, I’ve definitely seen you somewhere.” She studied him through a thick pair of bifocals as if sifting through every tall young-ish blonde haired man she’d ever been in contact with. “I’ve got it! You’re one of those Avengers.”

Steve bit back a sigh and put his USO smile back on. “Yeah, I-”

“You must be Hawkeye!’

The smile cracked. He was stuck gawking at the old woman like an idiot while Natasha didn’t bother to hide her snickers. “You’re absolutely right. He _is_ Hawkeye.”

“And you’re Black Widow,” the shop owner beamed. “My granddaughter absolutely loves you.”

Natasha blinked, momentarily thrown off. “Er- thank you.”

“She likes you, too, of course,” the shop owner said to Steve, “though she’s more of a Captain America fan.”

“Oh my God,” Natasha wheezed.

After Steve paid his balance and Natasha signed an autograph for the shop owner’s granddaughter, they exited the shop with two bulging bags full of batting and another three hours to kill before sunset. Steve packed the bags in the trunk of the car and refilled the parking meter. There was a cafe across the street and though he would’ve liked to go straight home, his stomach was whining.

“So,” Natasha said over a plate of fried pickles and drinks, “do you want to tell Clint you’re taking his spot or should I?”

“It’s not funny.”

“If you say so.” Natasha slid a pickle between her lips, which could only be an invitation to stare at them. Her lipstick was perfect, deep red and flawlessly applied. “Nice, though, isn’t it?”

The waitress arrived with their burgers, giving Steve a little wink while dropping Natasha’s plate two feet away from her.

“What is?” Steve asked as soon as she was gone.

“This,” she said. “Us just sitting here, having a meal. No killer robots or aliens, no battles. It’s peaceful, you know?”

Steve stared at the table. His untouched burger and crinkle fries. There was a couple two seats down enjoying the same meal. Another had salads and argued passionately about a football game on one of the TVs. A mother calmed a rowdy child with the promise of ice cream for dessert if he behaved. An old man in glasses nursed a cup of coffee. The waitress giggled with her friends while ‘discreetly’ shooting him looks.

None of them needed saving. They were ordinary people going about their daily lives without a care. Steve and Natasha were two friends out for lunch, chatting about the art of stuffed animal making.

And yeah, it was nice.

It was wonderful.

* * *

Steve stared into coal black eyes, lopsided only to the keenest observer. A clumsily stitched mouth appeared to be grimacing more than smiling. The ears were floppy but flat, like the sleeves of a shirt that hadn’t been worn in years.

On the plus side, the clothes were well-chosen. A white coat colored in reds, greens, and blues to resemble plaid, blue pants, and even bright red rain boots. A tuft of long brown hair was neatly glued between the too-long ears. A blue felt star was sewn on the right paw.

“You actually did it,” Steve marveled, stroking the plushy fur. It was appropriately soft and not overstuffed. Overall, a solid B+ first effort.

“Quit acting so surprised,” Bucky said. “I said I’d do it and I did. I’m a man of my word.”

“Never should’ve doubted you.” Steve shook his head. He picked Jane Bunny up and inspected her fluffy white cottontail. A little smaller than he would’ve gone for, but still acceptable. “Now are you going to mail it to Jane, or clear a spot for it on your pillow?”

“For your information, this’ll be an in person gift,” Bucky cracked a smug grin. “I’m seeing her in an hour.”

“That’s great,” said Steve. “So you finally asked her out?”

Bucky stopped grinning. “Well… no. It’s a meet and greet with some fans, but I’m going to ask her when it’s over. It’ll work out fine and _stop making that face_.”

“What face?” Steve spoke so innocently a halo could’ve spontaneously appeared around his head.

“ _That_. That… fucking little shit face like you think I can’t do it.” Bucky snatched the doll out of Steve’s hands. “Don’t mess her up. I worked hard on this.”

“How’d you even figure out how to make it?”

“Google,” Bucky said proudly. “Guess you’re not the only fancy artisan around here anymore.”

One of Jane Bunny’s boots fell off. Bucky grabbed it and stuck it back on without missing a beat.

“I have some spare red thread if you want to restitch that,” Steve said.

“I got it.” Bucky glanced at Steve’s work table, for once completely organized with a finished product in the center like a trophy. “You look like you’re busy. Hope you find a good spot on _your_ pillow.”

“Shut up,” Steve muttered, but Bucky and Jane Bunny were gone.

It was too quiet without them. Steve preferred silence while he worked-threading a needle was hard enough without ol’Blue Eyes or that Nas X kid in his ear- but maybe the distraction would be good for him. He switched on the TV to one of the music channels. First smooth jazz, then rock, then rap, then the Weather Channel.

He half-listened to the forecast (sunny skies all through Saturday) and thought about starting on those second two Hawkeye Cats. Somewhere in the bottom of his work bag was the first one, flat as a pancake with a hole in the side, ready for stuffing. Vision Cat was almost completely assembled, just a few more patches and the cape.

And all it took was five days of intermediate tinkering.

It wasn’t that he’d fallen through with his plans, just that they’d changed a bit. After bringing Headless Thor Cat to his proper head-having self, all his spare time went to the cat smiling blankly in his face. Getting her plastic green eyes in place, straightening her hair, sewing her bodysuit and making her gun. His original plan with the Ant Cat scraps had fallen through (turned out they were cut much smaller than he realized) and he’d taken an extra three hours on Monday to make a proper holster. It was snugly wrapped around the waist, though if he remembered correctly, Natasha typically favored thigh holsters. He hoped she wouldn’t mind a little creative license.

Natty Cat was his greatest creation. Her head was the slightest bit oversized and her left ear was bigger than the right. She was still perfect.

He reached for his phone. Her number was saved, but he knew it by heart. His finger hovered over the call button. Natty Cat stared at him as he hesitated to push it, almost like she was accusing him of something.

“Don’t make me put you in the closet,” Steve said.

Natty Cat stared harder.

The knock on the door was a welcome reprieve. He hadn’t heard anyone coming, not a single footstep, so it could only be one of two people coming to see him. Bucky would be waiting in the back of Dr. Foster’s panel trying to muster of the courage to say ‘hi’.

(Maybe someday that idiot would pull his head out of his ass and notice how Dr. Foster’s eyes followed him whenever they passed each other in the hall.)

Natasha was smiling, not in her usual secretive way, like she knew some great truth about you that you hadn’t figured out yet. More like Bucky a moment ago, like she couldn’t be more pleased with herself. Steve hadn’t seen her since their outing, she’d said goodbye and gone back to her room for a nap, and then just never came out again. He hadn’t been (very) worried. Sometimes she’d disappear on a mission and be gone for three weeks.

She’d been busy, he knew that from the smudge of ink on her face, her mussed hair, the nicks on her fingers from a needle, and the stuffed puppy in her arms wearing an American flag suit and a helmet with his old logo stenciled on.

“May I come in?”

Steve had already backed away to make room. “Please.”

Natasha walked to his work table. Dropped Steve Pup next to Natty Cat. “I’d ask what you’ve been up to, but…”

If the serum allowed him to read minds with perfect accuracy, he still wouldn’t know what to make of her. She picked up Natty Cat, examining her from all sides. Admiring? Looking for flaws? Who could know?

“I just finished her today,” he said, “kind of put everything else on hold so I could get her right.”

“Nice hair,” she said, fingering her messy curls. “You like me with straight hair?”

“I like you no matter what.” He heard it in his head before he said it, but he couldn’t stop himself. It didn’t have to mean anything if she didn’t want it to, but it felt… right. Right to finally get it out in the open, even if his choice of word wasn’t as strong as it should’ve been.

That smile again. “I have to tell you something, but I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

“It’s okay,” Steve stepped around the table to get a better look at Steve Pup. He had solid black eyes and a tiny pink tongue sticking out. His mask appeared to be detachable. His fur was light brown, almost gold. If there was a flaw with him, Steve couldn’t find it.

“I came very close to give him a bow and arrows.”

Steve’s shoulders sagged. Natasha giggled.

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Hey, at least I didn’t tell Tony.”

She flopped on the couch and grabbed the remote. The report on rising temperatures in the midwest clearly did not interest her, and she switched to a movie Steve had never seen before, starring actors he wouldn’t know if he saw them on the streets.

“You want something to drink?” he asked.

“I’m good,” Natasha patted the empty cushion next to her.

Maybe he should’ve been affronted at being invited to sit on his own couch in his own living room by an uninvited guest, but the thought wouldn’t occur to him until much later when it didn’t matter anymore. He turned Natty Cat and Steve Pup around so they could see the screen, and spent the next few hours laughing with her at cheesy action movies, all the inconsistencies and illogical moments.

At some point, his arm was around her.

At some other point, her head was on his shoulder.

They stopped talking. The last movie ended. She was asleep when the credits rolled and he didn’t want to move her. Steve removed himself from the couch as slow as possible, letting her head drop on a pillow.

He dug through the closet for a blanket and pulled out an old quilt he’d never used before. It was still in good shape, just needed some airing out. Natasha was still on the couch when he returned to the living room, but Steve Pup was now on the coffee table waiting for him. Natty Cat was in her arms, green eyes shining like she’d never been happier.

 

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Inspired by


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